


lost inside your heart

by siehn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Post-Season/Series 12, fluff and sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/pseuds/siehn
Summary: Cas pauses at the threshold of Dean’s room, caught out by the sight before him. Dean sits on the side of his bed, shoulders bowed and his head hanging low into his hands: almost penitent. Like he’s still praying desperately for Cas to come back.





	lost inside your heart

**Author's Note:**

> Post 12.23 Sap. Because I needed to write it to stop crying and decided to throw it out into the wild.

Seconds crawl like years as Castiel sits quietly at the table in the war room, his gaze far away and his hands twisted together in his lap. He’s been alive again for approximately ten hours and he can feel every breath he takes, every beat of the too-human heart in his chest; he squints against the brightness of the room and looks around to find himself suddenly alone. He has no recollection of Sam and Mary leaving the room, though he vaguely recalls catching Dean’s eyes briefly before he’d disappeared down the hall, muttering about a shower what must have been hours ago.

 

Cas frowns when the thought catches, his mind replaying Dean walking away, head bowed and shoulders tense; he’d been that way since Cas found his way back. His hands twitch when he remembers the way Dean had held him, too tight and too long, his arms wrapped as far around Cas as they would reach, and Dean breathed out his name like a benediction. It’d sounded like a sacred prayer, echoing in Cas’s ears and mind both, and he closes his eyes at the feelings spilling over inside him. 

 

Castiel hasn’t told him that his last thought before his Grace lit up inside was a desperate prayer to Dean, one final, frantic echo of Dean’s name, thrown out into the void. 

 

Deciding that enough time has passed, Cas pushes himself to his feet, the screeching scrape of the chair dragging against the floor making him wince. He takes brief stock of himself, tugging at the edges of the trenchcoat with a sigh before heading down the hall. There’s not much to be done for his appearance, ragged and tired though it is, and the low pull tugging him forwards overrides any half-formed reservations he might have anyway.

 

Cas pauses at the threshold of Dean’s room, caught out by the sight before him. Dean sits on the side of his bed, shoulders bowed and his head hanging low into his hands: almost penitent. Like he’s still praying desperately for Cas to come back. Every part of Castiel aches at the realization that Dean is hurting because of him in ways Cas isn’t sure he can fix. He can’t go back and not die in front of them, no matter how much he wishes. He usually makes things infinitely worse when he tries to fix them, and he swallows hard as he steps into the room almost without thought. Despite any misgivings he might have about his own abilities, he cannot leave Dean like this, grief hanging over him like a dark cloud, and the glint of tears on what little Cas can see of his face behind his hands.

 

“Dean,” he says, everything in him reaching out, though his hands hang uselessly at his sides because he still isn’t sure he’s  _ allowed _ . 

 

Dean looks up at him with his red eyes though, and has to clear his throat before he tries to say Cas’s name. His voice cracks, shatters on the familiar syllable, and Cas can’t help but reach out then, lifting his hands. He goes slow, mindful of the wariness in Dean’s eyes, giving him ample time to pull away should he wish to. When Dean doesn’t, Cas slides his palms against Dean’s cheek, rubbing his thumb gently through the tear tracks, his own breath catching in surprise. 

 

Dean watches him silently, leaning his head ever-so-slightly into Cas’s touch, and Cas’s eyes catch on Dean’s for one breathless, eternity-filled second, a nameless feeling welling up in him at the tears he sees still trapped there. 

 

In all the long years he’s been alive, no one has ever cried for him.

 

He doesn’t know what to do with it all: the things written across Dean’s face as they stare at each other, out in the open for Cas to see, for once. He sucks in a startled breath when Dean reaches up and presses his hand against the one Cas has left on his cheek, turning his head until he can press a kiss to Cas’s palm in a gesture so gentle it’s almost too much. 

 

“Dean,” Cas whispers helplessly, reaching out to grip Dean’s shoulder with his other hand, too afraid he’s going to fall if he doesn’t hold on. 

 

Dean’s next breath is a rough inhale, but he looks back up at Cas. 

 

“I thought--” he starts then stops, shaking his head. His hand is trembling against Cas’s where they touch. “Shit Cas, I thought you were-” He pulls away too soon, reaching out to tug Cas closer, letting his forehead drop forward against Cas’s stomach. Cas barely breathes, watching wide-eyed as Dean shakes apart against him. 

 

“Thought I lost you for good this time, man,” Dean finally gets out, gruff and low like he’s shattered somewhere inside and hasn’t managed to put himself together yet. Cas finds himself reaching out again, though he hesitates long enough to swallow hard before running shaking fingers through Dean’s hair, marveling at the softness, his breath hitching when Dean doesn’t pull away from the gesture. 

 

“You didn’t,” Cas assures him, his fingers caressing the fine hairs at the back of Dean’s head almost thoughtlessly. Dean’s hands are like brands against his side, slipped beneath the trench coat and jacket, the shirt the only thing between those hands and Cas’s skin. He finds himself desperately wishing it wasn’t there. “I came back,” he adds, for both their benefit; Cas is still having trouble believing it himself, grips Dean’s shoulder tightly to anchor himself here. 

 

“You always do,” Dean agrees, something akin to awe in his voice, and it reminds Cas of  _ Part of me always believed you’d come back _ , and the way Dean has never, ever given up on him. Dean breathes in, heavy on the exhale as he shifts back just enough to look up and catch Cas’s eyes again. 

 

This is where they always end up, Cas thinks dazedly, lost in green and the mixture of fear and hope he knows is mirrored in his own. 

 

“Christ Cas, stop dyin’ on me,” Dean tells him, his voice rough and full of the tears he hasn’t shed. 

 

Castiel reminds himself to breathe, nodding his agreement. He closes his eyes against the memory of his Grace alighting when his own blade had slipped through his chest. He shudders and feels Dean let go of him as he gets to his feet, and they’re well within each other’s personal space at this point. Cas forces his own eyes open to find Dean inches away, brows furrowed in concern as he searches Cas’s face for some obscure secret. He must not like what he finds there because he huffs a heavy sigh and wraps both arms around Cas in a hug so tight it’s overwhelming. Cas makes a quiet noise and sinks into it, slumping against Dean and returning the hug, gripping the back of Dean’s t-shirt in a tight fist. It’s grounding, driving the memory of his death from his mind until he’s able to breathe again, if unevenly. 

 

“I want--” Cas stops, swallowing compulsively, his grip tightening in Dean’s shirt until his knuckles turn white. “Dean--” He loosens his grip and pulls back just far enough to look at Dean. Castiel doesn’t know how to ask, settles for giving Dean a desperate look. He doesn’t know how to say that every part of him is rebelling against the idea of being alone right now; he doesn’t know how to say that he wants to  _ stay. _

 

“Hey, c’mere,” Dean says, though they’re as close as can be right now, breathing each other’s air. But Dean slips his hands beneath the jacket and trench coat and pushes them gently from Cas’s shoulders, forcing Cas to drop his arms to let them fall. He doesn’t look Cas in the eyes as he reaches up to tug the tie loose, sliding the material free and dropping it to the floor where the coats lay. He stops then, taking a steadying breath and looks up at Cas, reaching out to tap one of the buttons on the dress shirt. “I--” his hands tremble and Cas nearly reaches out, but he doesn’t, decides to wait instead. “Do you uh, do you want--” 

 

“Please,” Cas answers quietly, his voice cracked and he doesn’t know where this is going, really, but the way Dean’s shaking fingers work the buttons loose on his shirt, careful and tender in unexpected ways, is mesmerizing enough to distract Cas from asking. When he pushes the shirt over and down, his hands sliding against skin, Cas feels his heart skip a beat, something warm pooling in his gut. 

 

When Dean drops to his knees, Cas feels the tension in the air like a physical thing, weighing the both of them down. His fingers fumble with Cas’s belt like he can’t quite believe what he’s doing either, but he eventually gets it unbuckled, pulling it off in one smooth movement that neither of them really notice. Castiel has never felt time quite like this: each second a small eternity of its own as Dean carefully, reverently, unbuttons his pants and slips them down over Cas’s hips, the fabric catching on the hairs of his legs with tiny pinpricks of electricity. He breathes out, shaky and a little unsure, but doesn’t take his eyes off Dean where he kneels at his feet. The silence is heavy, but not uncomfortable; Cas feels no urge to break it, particularly not when Dean palms the back of his leg once he steps out of hist pants. He reaches out to brush his fingers through Dean’s hair just because he can, scratching his nails lightly against Dean’s scalp when he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of Cas’s thigh. The touch of his lips there is like a brand burning into his skin and he struggles with the need to breathe for a what feels like a lifetime contained in a single moment.

 

Castiel is down to his boxers and socks; not completely nude, but he still feels more vulnerable than he ever has before. This--

 

This isn’t something they’ve ever done. They don’t talk about the thing between them; they don’t ever really acknowledge it. It was always one of the unspoken rules of their relationship, and one they’ve only broken a few times, never to be spoken of again. But now--

 

Dean’s next breath shakes out of him as he stands, lets Cas help him to his feet and finally,  _ finally _ meets Cas’s eyes. They both need this, Castiel knows; he can see it in Dean’s eyes. In the fear and desperation and wild look staring back at him which speaks of the deep well of grief still holding onto Dean, still reminding him that Cas died. 

 

Cas doesn’t want that here, between them, though he can’t seem to let it go, either. 

 

“Dean,” he says, barely a breath, but Dean’s attention jerks back to him from where it had been wandering down Cas’s chest. Cas swallows hard and steels himself, holds tight to the tender kiss Dean had placed against his thigh. 

 

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean asks lowly, and he’s still more dressed than Castiel is; hiding his skin beneath a thin t-shirt. 

 

Cas knows what he wants, but he doesn’t know how to voice it. He doesn’t know how to ask for something he’s never let himself think about having. He reaches out instead, wrapping his fingers in the hem of Dean’s shirt and tugging lightly, a brief, silent question in the gesture and the quirk of his eyebrow. Dean’s breath hitches at the brush of Cas’s knuckles against his skin, and he nods, allowing Cas to tug his shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor beside the trench coat.

 

“I want to  _ stay _ ,” Cas says finally, both of them standing before each other in nothing but boxers and socks, bared open in more than just a physical sense. “I want to live,” he sighs, reaching out to press his palm over Dean’s heart, feels Dean’s intake of breath and the way his heart stutters just briefly at the contact, at the words. “I just want  _ this _ ,” he finishes, looking at Dean. 

 

_ I love you _ , he doesn’t say, but he already said it, once. It hangs in the air between them, now, acknowledged, if not answered in so many words. 

 

“You got this, Cas,” Dean assures him, reaching out to cup his cheek with a burning palm. “You got me,” he adds, his voice quieter, like the admission is a secret spilled into the air between them. It hasn’t been a real secret in years, but it’s good to hear all the same. 

 

Lost in the green of Dean’s eyes, Cas offers one of his own. 

 

“I prayed to you,” he whispers, barely conscious of the words. “When I died; I prayed to you.” 

 

Dean’s eyes go wide as he sucks in a sharp breath. Cas watches all the different emotions play over his face: shock, denial, grief, guilt; a hundred other things that Cas can’t name. Dean makes a small noise then, and reaches out to cup Cas’s face with both hands, his thumbs brushing against Cas’s cheeks tenderly as he tugs him in for a kiss that Castiel meets him halfway for.

 

It could be a desperate, feverish kiss filled with everything they’ve pushed down for all the years they’ve known each other. It should be that, maybe, but it isn’t. Instead, it’s tender and chaste and slow; full of the feelings that neither of them are quite ready to speak aloud. Instead, it’s Dean’s hands against Cas’s cheeks, kissing him softly. Cas keeps his eyes open the whole time, too afraid to miss anything; too curious to close them. 

 

The need for air forces them apart, and Dean touches his forehead to Cas’s with a small, shy smile that Cas has only seen a handful of times before. It’s dizzying, and Cas fights the urge to kiss Dean again just to taste it. 

 

“C’mon,” Dean murmurs between them, running his hand down Cas’s arm until he can take his hand, their palms pressed together. Cas lets himself be led backwards the two feet to the bed, fights down the sudden fluttering of his stomach when Dean climbs onto it, tugging Cas after him. He doesn’t know what to expect, what  _ Dean _ expects, but when he opens his mouth to ask, unable to mask the trepidation on his face, Dean just shakes his head. 

 

“Hey, you said just this, right?” he asks, his smile going from shy to crooked. “We don’t have to--” he stops, blushing, and Cas breathes out and nods. “This is more than just-- You get that it’s more than just sex for me, right?” Dean asks, leaning down to catch Cas’s eyes again, seeming startled at the relief he finds there.

 

Cas doesn’t know how to explain what he doesn’t understand himself. Instead, he settles beside Dean, carefully settling an arm over his middle and resting his head against Dean’s shoulder. Their legs are tangled, and Dean’s fingers are drawing loose symbols on his back; Cas is surrounded by Dean, and he--

 

“I get that,” he agrees hoarsely, his eyes shutting against the sudden sting of tears that he hides against Dean’s shoulder. “I-I  _ do _ want, it’s just--”Right now, he needs to feel real and alive and  _ here _ more. 

 

“You’re okay, Cas,” Dean tells him quietly in the darkness, pressing his whole palm to Cas’s back. “I got you. I’m here; _ you’re  _ here. You’re  _ home, _ Cas.” 

 

Cas finally believes him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [Tumblr](http://i-had-bucky.tumblr.com/) friends! Come say hi if you'd like.  
> I am slowly getting back into writing fic again, but I am the Slowest writer. 
> 
> For the curious: I wrote this mostly listening to Testify by NEEDTOBREATHE, Song for Someone by U2, and Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier.


End file.
